


Rear View

by yeah_alright



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Artist Zayn, Canon Nick, Leather Jackets, M/M, Making Out, Mechanic Zayn, References to Smut, Strangers to Lovers, brief references to anxiety and depression, but no actual smut, cameos by Louis and Doniya, flirty banter, mostly just fun and fluff but a few references to slightly serious topics, motorcycle riding, references to Niall and Shawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-11 14:38:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19929709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeah_alright/pseuds/yeah_alright
Summary: “So,” Nick says, “Still have a few things left to do tonight, you say? Could I help at all?”“You want to get your hands a little dirty, do you?” Zayn prods.“Well, I might as well, I suppose.” Nick takes his coat and scarf off and scans the garage for a safe, clean place to set them down. “Maybe be slightly less useless next time something happens? Plus, you look desperate for another pair of hands.”Zayn motions to a leather bench seat on the ground a few yards away. “You can set your stuff there. Cleanest seat in the house.”“Hmmm,” Nick hums, walking back over towards Zayn, rolling up the sleeves of his black button down to reveal very slim but toned forearms. “So,” he says when he’s next to him, peering into the engine, “how can I be of service?”___Nick's car breaks down at the start of a road trip and Zayn's the mechanic who tows him to his small town, where it looks like he'll be stuck for a few days.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't entirely understand why, but this fic was such a damn struggle for me to write. I had such a great time talking it through with the incomparable [disgruntedkittenface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/) and outlining it when the fest first started, but then months and months went by where I just wasn't able to manage more than tiny little bits and pieces here and there, and I felt so stuck. Even when a handful of wonderful people on tumblr provided some words to help kick-start me back into gear. I had so much left to do with only a week before my deadline, I really didn't know if I'd be able to do it. I'm so grateful to my precious friends for their assurances and encouragement, and, Maggie, I literally cannot thank you enough for giving so generously of your time and support and help. I don't think I'd be hitting post today if it weren't for you. ILYSGDM. 
> 
> All remaining mediocrity and mistakes are mine.
> 
> Thank you to [Nicola](https://missytearex.tumblr.com/), truly the most patient, kind, lovely artist collaborator anyone could ask for. Your support and understanding were more appreciated than I can say, and I'm so glad to have your picture board to help bring my fic to life. <333
> 
> And of course, thank you so much to the [Fest mods](https://1drarepairfest.tumblr.com/)!!
> 
> This might not be exactly what I originally envisioned, but honestly just posting it at all feels like a triumph, and I really hope you enjoy.

Zayn raises an eyebrow as he pulls his truck to the side of the road and shifts it into park. He runs his hand through his lazily-product’d hair, his lips pulling into the start of a smile as he assesses today’s damsel in distress.

He’s leaned against the side of a beautiful little Alfa Romeo that looks to be mid-60s (probably ‘66 if Zayn had to guess – and he’s usually right) and in gorgeous shape. Zayn’s actually surprised this man with all his limbs can even fit inside. Speaking of, Zayn allows himself a slow scan of his new client, knowing that even if he looks up from his phone, the combination of dirt and glare on the windshield is likely to prevent him from seeing Zayn giving him a once-over. 

The man’s lean is casual but calculated (possibly achieved through practiced habit rather than conscious effort at this point), left ankle crossed over his right, heeled boot digging into the dirt. He’s staring at his phone, but Zayn guesses the frown and furrowed brow are the result of being stranded rather than whatever ad Instagram has inserted into his timeline. He clearly wasn’t planning to stop here. 

He’s utterly out of place: artfully torn black skinny jeans tucked into his ankle books, a long and very posh-looking bright teal coat and multi (multi) colored scarf that coordinates perfectly with the other pieces of his outfit – or rather, his look. This, Zayn decides, is definitely what his sisters would refer to as a Look. He’s wearing undoubtedly sickenly expensive sunglasses, currently protecting his eyes from the glare of the screen they haven’t budged from since Zayn pulled up. The man sighs heavily and runs his hand through his relatively small but impressively styled quiff, which maintains its shape of course. Zayn shakes his head and his amused grin transforms into a full smile as a laugh escapes his nose in a huff.

_This ought to be a fun one._

Zayn opens his door and calls out a friendly “Alright?” as he steps down from the cab of the tow truck. “You called for a tow?”

The man looks up from his phone and turns his head toward Zayn, finally. He pockets his phone and tilts his head back – a bit dramatically, really – before standing up straight. “Thank Christ!”

“Name’s Zayn, actually.”

The man offers a strained half-laugh, and Zayn supposes he can’t blame him. But he also couldn’t help himself. Put-out rich boys are his favorite category of stranded people. They’re just so easy to toy with. So many buttons within reach. Big red buttons.

But he can tell this one is feeling rather frazzled and something about him pulls at Zayn’s better nature, so he decides to take a softer approach. For now.

“You’ve got an absolute beauty here. Know what’s wrong with her?”

“Not a fucking clue. All I know is I felt a big sort of clunk and then smoke started pouring out from under the bonnet. And I just bought it a few days ago, actually. It’s supposedly in tip-top. Or it bloody well should be for what I paid.”

“Well, it could be something small, eh?” Zayn offers encouragingly. “Let’s get it back to the shop and I’ll take a look for you.” 

The man sighs and jams his hands into his pockets. “How far away is that?”

“You planning on walking, are you?”

The man’s tight smile doesn’t given an inch. “Just wondering how long this will take.”

“It’s not too far, mate. About twenty minutes or so. And I’ve got nothing urgent going on back at the shop, so I can take a look as soon as we get back. Hopefully get you sorted and on your way in no time.”

The man sighs again and Zayn wonders if that’s his primary method of communication until he hears him mutter “twenty bloody minutes” under his breath. 

He decides to pretend the man meant for him to hear and responds, “Could be a lot worse. Not too much around here in the way of mechanics or tow companies.”

“Tell me about it,” the man exhales, his voice laced with venom. “When I typed ‘tow truck’ into Google Maps, the first thing that popped up was a-hundred-wanking-seventy-one miles from here all the way back in sodding London. Helpful, Google, truly. Why would anyone want the actual closest option of tow truck after all? Honestly, what are we signing away all our privacy rights for if we can’t even be properly geo-located in an emergency?” 

“So how’d you find me, then?”

“I called bleeding information, actually. Didn’t even know that was still a service. But when I realized no one out here apparently bothers to pay to show up in Google results, it was the only thing I could think to try.”

“Well done, then. Resourceful. Good to meet someone who might survive in the zombie apocalypse.” It’s a dumb joke, Zayn knows, but worth a shot to see if this seemingly total prick might have any kind of sense of humor about the situation.

“So, twenty minutes? Could we get on then?”

Apparently not. 

“If you want to grab your personal effects, I’ll get her hooked up and we’ll be on our way, Mr…” Zayn stretches out the final syllable in an invitation, not at all confident the man will even notice.

“Oh, right. It’s Nick.” Nick gives what he probably thinks is a smile but is more just a baseline acknowledgement that he’s got at least a few teeth and goes back to his phone.

“And I’ve got my phone and wallet. Carry on.” 

“Nice to meet you, Nick No-Surname. Mind stepping away from the car a bit? Be easier for me to hook her up to my truck if I’m not worried about ruining that fancy coat while I’m at it.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” And he sounds like he might even mean it. “Bit out of sorts.” He walks a few feet away, out farther from the road. 

“Ta, mate. Just give me a sec.”

Zayn quickly examines the car to figure out the best place to hook it up and hops back into his truck to pull it into place. He makes quick work of securing the Alfa, eager to get back to the garage. This Nick lad isn’t shaping up to be as fun as he expected. Bit too melancholy. No fun poking at someone when they seem so down. 

“All set, mate. Ready?” 

~~~

Zayn keeps quiet for the first few minutes of their ride back to his shop. Nick hasn’t actually taken his phone out on the drive, but he’s mostly just staring out the window, and Zayn doesn’t figure he’s particularly keen on small talk. He’s about to reach for the radio to give them both a distraction when Nick’s lightly graveled voice finally breaks the silence. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve been a bit prickly. This just isn’t how I’d hoped today would go.”

“Don’t stress, mate. In this line of work, ‘m used to people not being in the best mood.”

“That’s kind of you. Still, I am sorry. Shouldn’t be taking my frustration out on the one person who can actually help, either, eh?”

“No, maybe not.” Zayn smiles as he shifts the gear. “So, how was today supposed to go, then?”

Nick sighs dreamily as he stares out the window. “Well it’s Day bloody Two of what was meant to be my fabulous two-week solo road trip to celebrate my new job and my new dream car.”

“Dream car, eh?”

“Mmmm. I’ve wanted this precise car since basically the week after I learned cars came in models other the Austin Allegro.”

Zayn huffs a laugh. “Your family car growing up?”

“Of course,” Nick replies. “British manufacturing at its best.” They both laugh, reducing the tension in the small space. 

“Well, if you don’t mind my saying so, you seem a bit young to have already managed to get your dream car. Well done, you.”

Nick shifts in his seat. “Cheers, yeah. I suppose I am. But I just got a...promotion – of sorts – and I’ve always wanted to do this sort of road trip. Seemed like a good time, before the new gig starts, so I thought ‘fuck it, might as well go all out and get the car to go with it while I’m at it.’ Had the money and all. I know it probably makes me come off as a right wanker, especially in a place like thi–” He cuts himself off and shoots an apologetic look at Zayn. “Oh, sorry, mate. No offense. See, I don’t just _come off_ as a wanker. Properly am one.”

“Nah, you’re alright.” 

Nick stares at Zayn, eyebrow expertly raised. “Come on, mate. No need to pretend you weren’t thinking just that.”

“Alright, alright,” Zayn admits with a light laugh. “Maybe a bit. At first. But you seem basically alright, innit? You’re talking to me, for one. Not just staring at your phone. Which, if I’m honest, is all I expected when I pulled up and got a look at you.”

“Well my mother did teach me basic manners, Zayn.”

“Lucky me.”

Nick quirks his head to the side and lifts his eyebrows up playfully. “Darling, you’ve no idea,” he purrs, punctuating it with a wink. 

Zayn barks a laugh, surprised at the rather sudden shift in attitude. He’s never been the kind of person who initiates this kind of immediate friendly intimacy with strangers, but he really loves it, so he’s always keen on people who can manage to pull it off effortlessly. And based on his very initial impression of stranded Nick, he was certainly not expecting him to be one of those people. 

A welcome surprise. 

“So,” Zayn starts, laughter still coloring his voice, “how exactly _did_ I get this lucky?”

“The universe looking out for you, apparently,” Nick volleys back without skipping a beat.

Glad to hear his improved mood is sticking around, Zayn presses forward. “Clearly. But, I mean, tell me more about how you ended up in our humble neck of the woods. You said you’re on a celebratory road trip or summat. You got a promotion you said, yeah?”

Zayn turns slightly towards Nick as if to encourage him to answer for real, rather than with another dismissive joke (much as he’s enjoyed those so far), and notices Nick’s expression darken a bit. It’s subtle, and he rebounds quickly, raising his eyes to meet Zayn’s, but Zayn notices. He has no idea what about his question caused that reaction, but he decides to let it go since Nick so clearly didn’t mean for it to invoke a follow up question.

“Oh, you know,” Nick starts, clearing his throat slightly, “it’s no big thing. I’m actually a DJ, an–”

“Oh shit!” Zayn interrupts without actually meaning to. “Of course! Can’t believe I didn’t place it, but I knew your voice sounded familiar! You’re Nick _Grimshaw?_ Do the Breakfast Show, yeah? Bloody hell. Can’t believe it. I used to listen to you a bit when I lived in London. Been a few years, now – probably why I didn’t place you sooner. You’re great.”

“Cheers,” Nick says, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Yeah, I _did_ do. Moving to a brand new show in a few weeks. Drivetime.”

“Ah nice. Bit better of a wake-up time, I’d imagine. Good on you.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Nick answers back with a slight laugh. “So, yeah, not quite a promotion, technically, but a big change. And like you say, being able to finally go out past 7:00pm and sleep to a normal time again felt well worth celebrating.”

“For real, man. Don’t know how you did it all these years – it’s been years, yeah? – I’d have lasted about 2 days. Honestly, I’ll admit I mostly only caught the show at the end of a particularly late night. Never had it much in me to get up early enough to start my day with it.”

“Glad to have helped lull you to sleep on occasion,” Nick replies with only a bit of sarcasm.

Zayn laughs. “Nah, you’re well alright, man. Like, properly entertaining, which is amazing that early in the morning, if you ask me. I always really enjoyed the bits I caught.”

A bit of Nick’s smile finally reaches his eyes. “Thanks, mate. Yeah it’s definitely been fun. More than that – dream come true, honestly. But this feels like the right move for me at this point in my career.” His tone sounds a bit practiced on that last sentence, like he’s slipped into a speech he’s delivered hundreds of times before, a bit like auto-pilot. Zayn still remembers well enough what that feels like to know Nick would probably give anything to change the subject, so he decides to give him a break.

“Sounds great, mate. And congratulations, really. Tell me more about this road trip then. I know fuck all about radio stations, but I’d love to hear about where you’re planning to take this beautiful machine you’ve got.”

“Honestly, it’s all a bit up in the air. The details, I mean.” His posture is a bit stiff – he doesn’t look like someone settling in to excitedly share all kinds of details about a dream road trip. “I have two weeks and a rough idea of where to stop each night, but never really bothered to set out a proper plan and that. Felt more exciting this way. Just a man and the open road and all that nonsense.”

“Sounds amazing. That’s the way I’d want to do it.” 

“Of course, I didn’t expect to get sidetracked with a bloody broken car after just one night. Should have done, I suppose.” 

“No worries,” Zayn tries to sound assuring. “We’ll get you back out there in no time. Still plenty of time to get into all manner of trouble out there.”

All he gets in response is a polite “hmmm” as Nick turns his head back toward the window, so he decides to lay off any more questions for the rest of the drive back to the shop. A bit of a bummer, as Zayn actually is curious about the trip. Two weeks of spontaneous driving around the country in a gorgeous classic car? Zayn could talk about that for hours.

But Zayn also knows well how unwelcome and even exhausting it can be to have to keep up a polite conversation when you’re not up to it. And someone who talks for a living might well crave a break during his holiday, especially when he’s having a pretty shit day. So he resolves to let Nick decide if they start chatting again.

The two settle into silence, lulled by the sound of tires rolling along uneven road. Zayn sneaks occasional glances at his passenger, whose head remains turned slightly outward, gazing out the window. When he realizes Nick is unlikely to notice, focused as he is on their surroundings, Zayn allows himself longer looks at him between quick glances back at the road stretched before them. He knows this road better than he knows most things and isn’t too worried about any surprises. 

On the roadway, anyway.

What _is_ surprising is how drawn he feels to this complete stranger sitting next to him. How he seems to be trying to memorize the swoop of his hair, the line of his jaw, the way his eyelids appear to be growing heavier with every blink. He can’t seem to stop looking. Wondering what he’s thinking, and how long it might take for them to get to a point where Zayn could just ask him. 

What is it about this one? 

Maybe it’s just that he’s up from London and so triggering a bit of nostalgia that frankly Zayn wouldn’t necessarily expect given how he’d left five years ago. Maybe it was his sudden shift from aloof arsehole to remorseful, playful lad. Or maybe it’s just that he’s fit in precisely Zayn’s favorite way – understated but a bit regal, and presented in a way that makes clear he puts in thought and effort, takes care of himself, but never quite thinks he’s as fit as the next bloke. Fuck, maybe Zayn is just bored – it’s been a slow month in a pretty slow year. 

He doesn’t know what exactly it is that keeps pulling his eyes back to the passenger seat, but he’s content for now just to go along with it. 

From the little he’s already seen under the Alfa’s bonnet – and despite his attempts to reassure Nick – he’ll have a fair amount of time to try to figure it out. 

**~~~**

“Here we are.” 

Zayn pulls into the lot of his garage and comes to a stop. He puts the car in neutral and points toward the door to the small waiting area. “Go ahead on in and make yourself comfortable. I’ll unhook your girl and be right with you.”

“rEaR vIeW?” Nick reads off the sign. “What’s with the manic lettering? Have a stroke while placing your sign order, did we?”

Zayn laughs. “Nah, just happened to be the options the scrap yard had. Seemed good enough. The W’s actually an upside down M.”

“Very resourceful, I see.” He hops down from the truck and calls back, “Thanks for the lift, sailor. See you inside.”

Zayn puts the truck back in drive and maneuvers over to a better spot for unhooking Nick’s car. He hops out of the cab and makes quick but careful work of unhooking the Alfa into the garage and then moves the tow truck back to its place on the other side of the lot before making his way into the office. 

The door jingles as Zayn pushes it open. 

Nick is standing facing Zayn’s nearly wall-sized map of Europe, his coat still on, hands clasped primly behind his back as he surveys the push pins scattered across the continent. With his back to Zayn, keeping his eyes on the map, he asks, “All the places you’ve been?”

“Mmmm,” Zayn answers. “The red ones are. Yellow’s places I most want to go, still.”

Nick nods and turns around to face him. “Plans for any of them?”

“Nah, not right now. Been busy with the garage and that. Someday I’ll get back to it.”

Nick turns around and smiles. “So, what now?”

“Now I offer you some of the dreadful coffee from that pot over there and tell you to get comfortable while I go take a bit of a closer look at your girl. Should have a better idea what’s wrong in fifteen minutes or so.”

~~~

“Bloody hell,” Nick says, looking up from a magazine and checking his watch. “Hope you’re better at fixing cars than estimating time. Longest ‘fifteen minutes’ in history, that.” 

“Ah sorry, man.” Zayn checks his own watch and inhales sharply. He knew he’d taken longer than fifteen minutes, but hadn’t realized it had been nearly an hour. “Got caught up in checking everything out good and proper like. Wanted to make sure I had a good idea of how long it might take to actually sort you out fully.”

Nick raises his left eyebrow, a twinkle in his eye. Zayn’s so grateful that waiting so long hadn’t made him cross that he doesn’t let himself focus too much on whether Nick’s expression is just a cheeky reaction to an innocent remark or an actual indication of intrigue. It passes in a moment, anyway.

“So how big of a pile of shite is my dream car, exactly?” Nick asks.

Zayn flinches and Nick inhales deeply in response. 

“Not as bad as she could be, but definitely more than you probably expected, and absolutely more than you’d hope, I’m sure.”

Nick lets out his breath. “Tell me.”

“So, the small thing I assumed was wrong definitely is. And that’s no problem at all. I can fix that tonight. I have the parts and all. And it’s not expensive.”

“Ok…”

“The bigger issue is that I’m fairly certain there are about a dozen things that aren’t quite wrong yet, but are about to be. Especially if you take her on a two week road trip.”

“Sodding fuck. Are they big things? How bad?”

“Well,” Zayn continues. “Most of them aren’t too major. Just don’t have all the parts I’d need to replace everything that’s close to being shot. Old car and all.”

“She prefers ‘classic,’” Nick corrects. 

“Classic, of course,” Zayn replies with a laugh. “So yeah, given how...classic she is. And how many of her parts are, well, fucked–” 

Nick lets out a hearty, sudden laugh, and Zayn is so glad he’s taking this as well as he is. Most people wouldn’t.

“–I’ll have to order a fair number of parts, maybe even have to track some down. So I’m afraid I won’t even be able to finish tomorrow. Even if I order everything today, which I’ll try my best to do. But, honestly, I almost certainly won’t be able to get everything done tomorrow. Just want to be up front.” 

“Ok, but you say a lot of this isn’t actually broken yet, right?”

“Well, no. But I’m telling you, man, you don’t want to wait to fix this stuff. You’ll just end up broken down again in the next few weeks I’d guess. If not in the next few days.”

“Well, fuck me.”

“Sorry, mate. I’m sure you want to get back to your trip. And I know the last thing you wanted to hear was that you’d be stuck here overnight, let alone two nights.”

“Well…”

“But the way I see it, your options are to have me fix only what’s actually keeping it from running and take her back to London to have it looked at properly and made tip top–”

“Which is going to cost a fortune…”

Zayn nods. “Which is going to cost a fortune, yeah. And probably require your car to be in a shop for weeks, once you’ve even found one you trust.”

“Not ideal, obviously.”

“Right. Or you could stick around here for a bit and let me fix her up properly, in the way only someone who actually loves cars will.”

“Well,” Nick says. “I _do_ appreciate that you didn’t refer to yourself as a gearhead just then. So, point to you.”

“And I promise not to show you my crocheted ‘gearhead’ throw pillow,” Zayn deadpans.

“Please,” Nick replies through laughter. “So,” he continues, “you sure I can’t just get this mess fixed, the thing that’s actually already broken now, just do this road trip I’ve been planning and be really careful and then take it somewhere when I get home?”

Zayn twists his mouth into a grimace. “I really wish I could tell you that was an option, but I can’t mate. Honestly, you’d just end up stranded on some other country road in a few days’ time.”

“Sure, but maybe I’d make it to Aberdeen before then. Getting stranded with a rugged Scotsman in a mechanic’s kilt doesn’t sound half shabby.” 

“What? I’m not your type?” Zayn challenges, quirking his eyebrow. He can’t entirely read Nick’s reaction, but he’s at least amused, giving him a playful once-over, humming his consideration, before he schools his face back into a neutral expression.

“And you really think you could get this done in a day or so?”

“I do. Think so, anyway. From what I saw just now. But I only got to poke around a bit and run a few very basic diagnostics. I can do more extensive testing tomorrow when I can pull a few things out and get a closer look.”

“What are the chances you find it to be an even bigger disaster once you dig in?”

“Well, I don’t know for sure, of course. But from what I’ve seen, it’s mostly just wear and tear from having been around the block. Don’t think anyone did a hatchet job on her or anything, just couldn’t be arsed to keep up maintenance as well as they should.”

Nick sighs and he scrubs his hand over his face.

“Listen, man. I know this is a shite way to start a road trip. But I promise you I’ll work as fast as I can to take care of her and get you back on your way in the next few days. I know I’d be itching to get back out on the road if I got stuck somewhere like this.”

Nick smiles, his eyes tired and brows furrowed, but looking grateful. 

“I’ve not got much else going on this week,” Zayn adds, “so you’d have my full attention.”

Nick’s smile broadens, the wrinkle between his brows handing the baton to those forming across his forehead as his eyebrows raise. “Sounds promising.”

“Plus, I won’t gouge you.”

“Mmm, slightly less so.”

Zayn barks a laugh. 

“Still, sounds better than the alternative.”

“You flatter me, Nicholas.”

Nick laughs easily. “Alright, mate. Let’s do it.” He offers his hand and Zayn grabs it in a firm shake. Nick’s skin is soft but not entirely smooth, as though he knows what work is but also takes care of himself. His grip is solid but not overwrought the way so many men’s are when they’re shaking hands with a mechanic – like they’re trying to prove their masculinity. It’s easy and confident, and the right levels of each. 

It’s the handshake equivalent of what Nick seems to exude in general: a playful authority. 

It’s alright. 

“So,” Nick breaks the silence and their handshake at the same time. “Know where I can get a decent bite and maybe a bedbug-free place to sleep? Or is your expertise limited to stunning automobiles driven by gorgeous men with flawless style?”

Zayn laughs for what feels like the hundredth time that night and tells Nick all about the one motel in town and the few dinner spots that are least likely to elicit a shudder or an eyeroll. 

Nick thanks him and tells him he’ll pop over first thing tomorrow to check in on everything. 

And Zayn feels bad that Nick’s plans got so sidelined. He really does. 

But he’s also excited for morning. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Knockedy knock, lover boy!”

Zayn brings his head out from under the bonnet of Nick’s car in response to his grand entrance. He notices himself smiling at the absurd greeting. Or maybe just the man responsible. 

“Oi oi, Zayn, you back here?”

“Alright, mate?” Zayn wipes his hands and flings his grease towel over his shoulder. 

Nick’s carrying a white box with a string wrapped ‘round. 

“Bringing me presents already, then?” Zayn jokes, surprising himself a little. 

Nick shrugs to one side, flashing his whites. 

“Had a lovely little lie in this morning. Didn’t drag my old bones out of bed until half ten. Felt absolutely amazing. Haven’t been able to do that in years with my work schedule.”

“Aye, sounds nice, mate.”

“It was amazing, to be honest. And then I wandered around a bit, stumbled onto this little cafe with surprisingly decent coffee–” 

Zayn huffs a laugh.

“ –and scones and pastries, the whole lot. I just couldn’t decide. Thought you might be hungry, working up a grimy sweat in here and all.” Nick winks and Zayn can’t help himself from laughing.

“Nah man, don’t you know mechanics can’t eat proper things like that?”

“Ah well, shame, that. More for moi, I ‘spose.” 

Zayn shakes his head, a bit gobsmacked at – but honestly quite into – how quickly his odd new customer has gotten comfortable with blatantly flirty banter. He gives the tall, slim figure a once over, only slightly caring how obvious he’s probably being. 

Nick is wearing a decidedly less flashy outfit than yesterday – black on black on more black. Same black heeled boots from yesterday, black skinny jeans – no rips today, black coat and scarf. All impeccable and no doubt designer and thus expensive, but otherwise fairly low-key. His hair is still styled in a flawless quiff, but even it seems more modest somehow. 

“Nice outfit, mate. Bit more...subdued than yesterday, innit?”

“Noticing my wardrobe changes already, are you?” Nick’s playful tone dances with each word.

“I guess I am,” Zayn replies, relishing the way they seem to have fallen back into their playful teasing almost immediately. He’d been a little worried that all the thinking and smiling and pondering and wondering he’d spent basically the entire night doing had rendered his memories of Nick and their time yesterday a bit rose-colored, so he’s at least tentatively relieved that they don’t appear to be complete figments of his imagination.

“My my,” Nick volleys back. “Usually I have to charm someone over dinner first.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow, pondering whether to just ask him to dinner right then.

“But yes,” Nick muses dreamily, “I woke up in this charming hamlet, perused my more colorful options, and then went ahead and decided I wasn't in the mood to be the victim of a hate crime today.”

Zayn laughs and nods his head. “Fair enough, mate. I think you might actually be pleasantly surprised at what people are like here, but I can't say I blame you, not knowing and all. Better safe than sorry and all that, eh?”

Nick shrugs, his hands still in his coat pockets. “Essentially. But I’m tickled to hear I could have done my worst and maybe still been safe. Shall I go back and change? I’ve got a gorgeous fuschia jumpsuit that’s been begging to be taken out for a spin.”

“Nah, you look great,” Zayn says, a touch quieter than he’d intended. “Much as I’d love to see that.”

Looking pleased as punch – Zayn had never actually felt he understood that saying until just now – Nick makes like he’s fixing his scarf, arranging it just so, pushing his lips out in a perfectly exaggerated selfie pose.

“Alright, alright, Mr. McQueen, let’s not get carried away,” he laughs.

“Oh, pish,” Nick stills, a petulant look on his face. “Just when I was getting into me primp zone.”

Zayn smiles and cocks his head to the side. “I know, I know. I’m no fun at all.”

“Oh, doll, I’m quite confident that’s not true.” He winks, and Zayn feels it deep in his belly.

“So,” Nick continues, dropping almost all the flirtation from his tone, “What horrors have you found in my darling Alfie, then?”

Zayn starts with the good news. He’s managed to fix the problems that had caused Nick’s car to smoke and stall, as well as made some solid progress on a lot of the troublesome bits he’d noticed during his initial look around. Nick seems elated at the update, and Zayn hates that he has to immediately dash the gleaming smile from his face laying out the worse news. 

As he’d expected, and explained, his more thorough examination this morning had revealed a host of issues, some of which indeed will require parts that Zayn simply doesn’t keep on hand. He’d taken the liberty of ordering the parts that morning, as soon as he’d identified what was needed, figuring Nick would be more concerned with the work getting done quickly than he was approving every aspect of it before Zayn could move ahead. Luckily, Zayn had assumed correctly. Nick is visibly (and vocally) disappointed that he will indeed have to stay another night in a motel that doesn’t even have a kettle (“Honestly, how can a mere mortal man be expected to tackle a day in a strange land without a proper cuppa first thing to fortify him?”), but he also thanks Zayn for sticking to his word and working to help him get out as soon as possible. 

And if Zayn feels a tinge of hurt that Nick is in such a hurry to leave town – and those who live here – the pulse of warmth that Nick squeezes into his shoulder as he’s thanking him does a steady job of chasing it away. 

Somehow, with Nick maintaining the kind of eye contact that usually forces Zayn to divert his gaze after a few seconds, Zayn manages to not only remember but also to say aloud that he should get back to work. 

“Just pop by towards the end of the day, and I’ll have another update for you.”

“I suppose someone of my talents  _ would  _ be wasted in a garage,” Nick muses. “Any recommendations for exploring your fair town? On foot, remember.” He lifts his right foot a few inches from the ground, toes pointed, and kicks out and back a few times. “And in fabulous but not entirely functional suede boots.”

Zayn huffs a laugh. “Sure, happy to write down some ideas for places you can check out.”

“Cheers, mate.”

“Starting with a little operation an old schoolmate runs out of his trunk.”

Nick quirks an eyebrow. “Young man, are you suggesting I engage in recreational drugs?”

“Trainers,” Zayn replies with a laugh. “Fake Fendi.”

Nick recoils and Zayn laughs again. “Don’t worry, Mr. DJ Man. They’re sick. Your fancy London friends won’t be able to tell.” 

“My fancy London friends,” Nick whispers, “shall never hear of this at all.” 

~~~ 

Zayn hears the jingle of his front office door opening. He considers stopping his work on Nick’s Alfa to double-check that it’s not another customer he needs to tend to, but as he lifts his eyes toward the garage door, he spots a spanking new pair of black and gold trainers – with the Fendi F patterned all over – step through the threshold, attached to a still-black-clad Nick, looking half proud, half sheepish. 

“So you found Dom’s trunk?” he calls over to Nick. “Shall I call your fancy London friends and let them know you should be taken off all invite lists immediately?”

“I’ll have you know, Mr. Malik,” Nick responds, his eyes narrowed but a playful look on his face, “that I made a  _ valiant _ effort to stroll about town in my boots.”

“I’m sure you did,” Zayn laughs. “So what went wrong, then?”

“Well, you might not have noticed with your head stuck under that bonnet all day, but we’ve had a spot of rain.”

“Mmm, yeah I did hear that.”

“Well I couldn’t very well risk my suede boots, could I?”

“Absolutely not,” Zayn agrees, nodding his head solemnly. “You did the right thing.”

Nick nods his head emphatically once, looking very pleased with himself. He watches Zayn for a moment, eyes following his hands as they re-tighten a bolt and then grab a nearby rag to wipe the grease from them. 

Zayn notices Nick’s jaw drop slightly and his steadily focused eyes and a wave of heat pulses through him. He enjoys the gaze for a few moments before he clears his throat, stirring Nick, who shakes his head slightly and blinks himself back to normal eye contact. 

“Uh...so...” he starts, a bit shakily, “any update? How’s the old girl doing?”

_ “Classic _ girl,” Zayn corrects with a wink. “Pretty well, actually. Only one more thing to do for her this evening. A few more of the parts I need will for sure arrive tomorrow afternoon. The final ones may not arrive ‘til the day after, but we’ll keep our fingers crossed.”

“Mmm, I don’t know,” Nick mutters softly, his eyes cast down, “having to stay another day wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen, I suppose.”

Zayn quirks an eyebrow at Nick, and Nick looks up at him through his eyelashes, a bit...bashfully, almost, and adds, “I’m starting to appreciate a few of the town’s charms.” He smiles softly and Zayn’s lips respond in kind. 

“I knew you’d love the knockoffs,” Zayn jokes, prompting laughter from both of them and playful shoulder slap from Nick. 

“So,” Nick says, “Still have a few things left to do tonight, you say? Could I help at all?”

“You want to get your hands a little dirty, do you?” Zayn prods. 

“Well, I might as well, I suppose.” Nick takes his coat and scarf off and scans the garage for a safe, clean place to set them down. “Maybe be slightly less useless next time something happens? Plus, you look desperate for another pair of hands.”

Zayn motions to a leather bench seat on the ground a few yards away. “You can set your stuff there. Cleanest seat in the house.”

Nick walks over to set down his things, taking a few moments to admire the two-toned leather with its ridge design. “Love how you’ve furnished the place.”

Zayn laughs. “It belongs to a Plymouth sitting out back. All done refinishing it. Just haven’t had a chance to re-install it.” He glances meaningfully at Nick. “Been a bit occupied, haven’t I?”

“Hmmm,” Nick hums, walking back over towards Zayn, rolling up the sleeves of his black button down to reveal very slim but toned forearms. “So,” he says when he’s next to him, peering into the engine, “how can I be of service?”

Nick’s idea of helping is about what Zayn expected. Mostly offering a steady stream of car-part innuendo and occasionally handing Zayn the absolute wrong tool in response to a specific request. But he’s a laugh and Zayn’s grateful for the company. 

His company, specifically. 

They (well, Zayn) make quick work of finishing up with the Alfa and move on to a motorcycle Zayn’s been restoring. He’s been planning to take it for a test drive sometime during the week to make sure it’s running properly. After about an hour or so of working on the bike, Zayn explaining what he’s doing and Nick nodding along, asking questions and responding with likely feigned but genuine-sounding interest (no wonder he’s so good at his job), Nick notices his hands have somehow managed to get a little dirty, despite his mostly hands-off approach to helping.

“Look at that! Officially a proper mechanic, me!” he exclaims proudly, waving his hands near Zayn’s face. 

“Might have to hire you on if this Drivetime gig doesn’t work out,” Zayn says. “I could always use a borderline competent employee.”

Nick curtseys and laughs, eliciting a giggle from Zayn as he tosses him a rag. 

“Ooh, ok  _ now _ I’m properly a mechanic,” Nick says as he wipes his hand on the rag. “‘Spose I can call it a night, then.”

Zayn feels a pinch of disappointment that Nick might leave, but tries to keep it from his face. 

“Any recommendations for tomorrow?” Nick asks. “Perhaps a counterfeit handbag operation I should check out?”

“Actually,” Zayn says, “like I said, parts won’t likely arrive ‘til the afternoon, so I’m free all morning, if you want some company.”

Nick beams and Zayn’s speech falters a bit as he continues. “I could even give you a proper tour of the town.”

When Nick doesn’t answer immediately, his eyes flicking about like he’s searching for a response, Zayn pokes him gently in the ribs. “What? You have other plans? Found yourself a date while you were out today, did you? I know Dom can be charming...” 

Nick leans his face down and pretends to bite at Zayn’s finger, which Zayn pulls back with a startled laugh. “No,” Nick pouts. “Maybe my very stylish but masterfully unassuming black ensemble did too good a job of making me fit in.” He gasps suddenly and places his palm on his chest. “Oh God! You don’t think people thought I was  _ straight, _ do you?”

“Could be,” Zayn deadpans. “Just to be sure no one got the wrong impression, maybe we should take the bike, then. Should be fixed up enough to take her for a spin. And there’s room for two if you don’t fancy any personal space. Two leather-bound lads pressed together with an engine between their legs ought to take care of any wrong ideas.” He raises his eyebrows at Nick and awaits an answer. 

“Well,” Nick replies with a bit of a break in his voice, “I suppose I  _ should  _ see my work through. Make sure she’s running smoothly and all that. And I wouldn’t want you stranded on your own if something happens.” He holds Zayn’s gaze for a moment, eyes flashing with mirth, and Zayn stares back, a smile quirking up one side of his mouth.

“Mmm,” Zayn agrees. “‘Spose you better.”

Nick gives a slight nod and walks over to collect his coat and scarf from the bench seat before returning to Zayn. “‘Til tomorrow then.”

“Walk you out?”

“Such a gentleman,” Nick drawls. He shrugs on his coat and drapes his scarf lazily around his neck, letting it hang. 

Zayn smiles and turns to walk through the door to the office, feeling Nick follow close behind him. They cross the small office in silence and when they reach the front door Zayn grabs the handle.

“Zayn, hold up a mo.’”

Zayn turns back toward Nick as he pulls the door open, holding it for Nick.

“What’s up?”

Nick walks over to the door, winding his scarf around his neck. He pauses when he reaches Zayn but doesn’t say anything at first, just loiters in his space.

Zayn’s not quite sure what to make of the close proximity, which has to be intentional on Nick’s part. “Alright, mate?”

“Listen,” Nick finally offers. “If we’re going to hang out more, we need to be clear about something.”

Zayn cocks an eyebrow. “That sounds serious, man.” 

“Not serious, just necessary.” 

Nick still hasn’t given an inch. He might have even leaned in a few more, although honestly Zayn can’t quite tell. He’s a bit flustered at having his personal space so encroached upon so unexpectedly. “Alright well spill it, eh? My arm’s getting tired holding this door open fo–”

“You’re beautiful is what.”

“Wh-what?” Zayn sputters. There’s no way he could have misheard from this distance. But he can’t think of anything else to say, not sure what else to do but blink at Nick, waiting to see if he explains himself. 

“Just bloody gorgeous. Drop dead.” Nick holds Zayn’s gaze steadily, with a nonchalant confidence that has completely disarmed Zayn. 

“I don’t...I mean…” 

“You must know that. Loads of people must have told you that. Plus, you know, mirrors and whatnot.”

Zayn laughs, partially to mask his discomfort, and partially because he has no idea what to say in response. Despite their flirting, he was not expecting this. 

“You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know before we spend more time together, that I’m thinking that about you. About that. How fit you are. I’ve noticed. I’m noticing. That work for you?”

Zayn stammers an answer but doesn't actually consciously recognize which specific words come out of his mouth. They seem to do the trick though, because Nick smiles at him – or is it a smirk? Definitely a smirk. Right. The answer wasn’t quite masterful, then. But at least it made enough sense for Nick to finally break eye contact and walk through the door. 

“See you tomorrow morning, then?” Nick calls over his shoulder, mercifully not turning back around to actually look at Zayn.

“Aye, see you tomorrow,” Zayn manages. He had intended to follow Nick out and lock up before heading home, but instead he lets the door swing shut still standing in the office. He watches through the glass as Nick saunters across the parking lot and wonders if he’s added a bit more strut to his step knowing Zayn is probably watching him go. 

He thinks about calling his mate Louis back in London to fill him in on this development. Definitely the most interesting thing to happen to him lately, and Louis would no doubt get a kick out of it. But he decides against it. He feels strangely protective of the moment, not sure that he wants it to become fodder for piss-taking and most likely laughter – however good natured. 

Instead, he decides to head back into the garage and do some final touches on the motorcycle. He's suddenly very keen to get it in the best shape possible. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Nick fucking _Grimshaw?”_ Louis rasps across the line. 

“Nice one, bro,” Doniya adds. “He’s well fit in a like posh-but-not-stuck-up way, innit?”

Zayn had decided to call his sister the next morning when he’d woken up buzzing about his plans for the day and wanted to share with someone. And of course she was out to breakfast with Louis. The two of them had started hanging out more after Zayn moved back home, and had become proper mates. He might have assumed a Tuesday morning would be a safe time to get just his sister alone, but he didn’t think about the fact that two make-up artists with no set schedules have no concept of weekdays versus weekends.

“Yeah, well, like I said,” Zayn responds, trying to maintain a bored tone, “it’s not exactly a big thing, is it? Just a bit of entertaining goss I thought you might appreciate.”

“You know,” Doniya says, her voice gone serious, “maybe this is like a sign from the universe that you’re meant to move back to London finally.”

“Or maybe,” Louis adds flatly, “it’s a sign from the universe that you’re meant to fuck a Radio 1 DJ.”

~~~

“Are you responsible for the kettle I came back to last night, Mr. Malik?” Nick greets Zayn as he swings open his motel door. 

He’s decked out in the ripped black skinnies he wore when Zayn met him, topped with a black t-shirt with simple white graphic and a black leather motorcycle jacket layered over a red and black checked flannel, his black Ray Bans perched on his messier but still styled quiff. 

Zayn’s mouth goes dry. 

Nick’s eyebrows pop up and Zayn’s not sure if his expression is giving him away or if he’s just left Nick’s question unanswered for too long. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Yes.”

“Well, that was very thoughtful, thank you. How’d you pull that off being in the garage all day?” 

“Oh, actually, my mates – Niall and Shawn – they run this place. It was no trouble, really. Just a quick phone call. They had an extra kettle.”

“You mean that luscious couple are _friends_ of yours?”

Zayn laughs and Nick gives him a quizzical look. 

“Sorry, it’s just...they’re not a couple. Just mates.”

“Whatever you say,” Nick scoffs, stepping out of the room and pulling the door shut behind him. “I can’t be the first to make that mistake.” He makes exaggerated air quotes on the last word, tilting his head toward Zayn, eyebrows all the way up.

“No, not at all,” Zayn says, shaking his head, smile wide. “Honestly, we’re all just waiting for them to realize.”

“Well,” Nick says, invading Zayn’s space, “here’s to making realizations, then.” He pulls back with a wink and nods towards Zayn’s motorcycle, parked in the nearest spot.

“Shall we?”

~~~

Zayn pulls up to their first stop, not at all looking forward to Nick easing up on his grip around his waist or pulling his face back from looking over his shoulder, his breath heating his neck. He kills the engine and pushes the kickstand into place with his heel, smiling as Nick’s grip tightens at the slight tilt of the bike as it settles into place. 

They get tangled a bit in each other’s limbs as they climb off the motorcycle, giggling as they grapple to steady themselves, their leather jackets groaning against each other. 

“Flawlessly executed,” Nick jokes. “Well done, us.”

“Lucky we’ll get some practice today,” Zayn says as he walks around to the storage compartment on the back of the bike and opens it to grab the picnic basket Nick had adorably packed for them.

Nick clucks his tongue at him, walking over. “Now now, allow me.” Zayn throws his hands up, palms facing out, as Nick gets closer. Nick pulls the basket out and leans in to within a few inches of Zayn’s face. “Ta, darling,” he whispers gruffly, as Zayn closes the compartment. Zayn blinks slowly, his thick lashes momentarily pausing against his skin, and he hears Nick’s breath hitch. Exactly as he’d hoped. 

He’s been told by not a few people that his eyelashes are captivating and he’s learned to use them strategically to garner attention at key moments. 

Nick’s eyes flick down to his lips, and he darts his tongue out to wet them, fully aware of what he’s doing and not caring if Nick can tell. As Nick’s eyes dart back up to meet his, Zayn smiles slightly and holds his gaze for a moment before breaking the tension. 

“Picnic?”

Nick nods silently and swallows, causing Zayn’s smile to widen.

“Lead the way, then.”

~~~ 

“Here’s perfect!” Nick declares, spinning around and looking at Zayn triumphantly. 

He sets down his basket and opens the lid, pulling a perfectly picnic-plaid blanket out and shaking it out. He lays it out with a flourish and raises an eyebrow at Zayn, who’s standing slack-jawed watching the whole performance. Nick smirks and turns his attention back to his basket, kneeling down beside it and beginning to empty its contents. Zayn’s eyes grow wider with each item Nick places carefully on the blanket.

He lays out a small but quite nice assortment of fruit next to the cheeses – grapes and strawberries and oranges, the oranges cut up into slices the way Zayn's mum had always cut them when it was her turn to bring snacks for Zayn's football matches when he was small.

“Oranges cut up like this always make me think of my childhood,” Zayn says with a smile as he picks a slice out of the container. A wave of unexpected nostalgia washes over him as he presses the tart and sweet flesh of the fruit between his teeth. He closes his eyes to enjoy it without distraction, snippets of memories flashing behind his eyelids – joking with his mates on the sidelines as their small sweaty hands grabbed greedily at the bags of orange slices, swiping the juice that ran down his chin on his jersey sleeve, complaining to his mum when she insisted on fixing his hair before the next half began – as he savors the citrusy scent and the burst of flavor on his tongue. 

He opens his eyes finally to see Nick staring at him, with a strange look on his face. Something seems a bit off about his face somehow. Zayn's eyebrows furrow as he tries to discern what it is. Perhaps it's just the clouds casting an odd shadow as they dance softly above them, twisting and reshaping themselves with the patient perseverance that only clouds seem to have. No, that's not it. It's not a trick of the light. Maybe something around his mouth?

Suddenly Nick smiles and Zayn is torn from his pondering instantly, bursting into laughter at the sight before him. The corners of Nick’s mouth are pulled fully back, his lips spread wide, flashing a brilliant orange rind smile, his eyes gleaming with pride. Zayn can’t stop laughing at the utterly absurd sight of this posh, impeccably dressed, perfectly coiffed man beaming at him with a citrus peel crammed into his mouth. 

Nick preens, clearly delighted at having elicited such a surprised and gleeful laugh from Zayn. He waggles his eyebrows and begins laughing himself, dislodging the orange slice so that half of it is hanging out over his lower lip. He pulls it from his teeth and winks at Zayn, who's beginning to compose himself.

“Did you slice oranges to bring just so you could do that?”

“‘Course,” he answers immediately and seriously. He brings the slice back to his mouth to suck the remaining juice from it before tossing the rind into the grass. He licks his thumb and sucks the juice off each of his fingers before leaning back on his elbows and squinting at Zayn. “What? Orange you glad I did?”

Zayn groans and shoves Nick’s shoulder.

“Oh, come off it, you love it!” Nick insists. 

As Zayn pulls his arm back, his hand brushes against Nick’s and a spark shoots to his stomach, igniting a flurry of butterflies. 

Maybe he does.

~~~

Nick’s eyes flutter open and he smiles sweetly at Zayn. “Get a good look, did you?”

Zayn stutters a laugh and looks back down at his sketch pad, half-finished pencil drawing of Nick napping on the picnic blanket. He finishes up the line of Nick’s jaw he’d been perfecting in the final moments he was asleep and sets his pencil down. 

“You sure you don’t need a little more sleep?” he asks. “I could use a little more time to finish up.”

“You’re _drawing_ me?” Nick asks with surprise, lifting himself up to rest on his elbows. “You draw?”

“I am. I do.” Zayn answers. 

“Can I see?”

Zayn’s usually a bit shy to share his drawings, especially when they’re unfinished. But he surprises himself by handing over his sketchbook without hesitation. “It’s not done, obviously.”

Nick sits up fully and takes the sketchbook, gasping softly. 

“Zayn, wow. This is amazing.”

Zayn smiles and feels a flush fill his cheeks. 

“Really, it’s incredible. You’re so talented.”

“Just a sketch,” Zayn protests. “You just looked so content lying there. So serene. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Just had to draw me like one of your French girls, did you?” Nick jokes. “No really. It’s lovely. Just lovely.” He silently scans it for a few moments, his eyes bright and lips twitching, before asking, “May I keep it?”

“But it’s not done,” Zayn protests, surprised by the request.

“I quite like that it’s unfinished, actually. Feels spot on.”

“‘Course you can have it,” Zayn says. “I’m flattered you want it.”

Nick carefully rips the page from the sketch book and folds it, tucking it into the chest pocket of his flannel. 

He looks back to Zayn, eyes focused intensely on his. 

“How could I not want it?”

~~~

Zayn doesn’t know of a more beautiful spot in his town than this pond, with its well-worn but unkempt path wrapping ‘round it. It’s serene and lovely and it’s never too crowded, especially on weekdays. Perfect for ambling around, sharing details of your life with someone you’re just getting to know, occasionally and carelessly (or perhaps carefully) brushing hands as they swing past each other in a gentle rhythm. 

And that’s exactly what Zayn and Nick do, for well over an hour. 

Zayn tells Nick all about his past life in London. How he’d moved there in 2012 to give his art a real shot, and how he’d found rather tremendous success – especially for a new visual artist – quite quickly, but after having been written up in The Sunday Times and toasted around town with all manner of impressive people, he’d struggled to follow up on his breakout success. How he’d never before felt like such a failure, and had plunged into a depression that had lasted longer than his previous bouts ever had. And how he’d finally admitted defeat when he could no longer afford his rent, even in the humble flat he shared with his sister, who was just finishing up cosmetology school and so couldn’t afford to cover his rent as well, despite her sweet insistence that she could. 

He admits that, as much as he’s made peace with his life back home, even come to appreciate it, meeting Nick and spending time with him has stirred up strong feelings of nostalgia, maybe even longing, for London. And he shares, for the first time with anyone aside from his sisters, that he’s actually been thinking a bit about getting back into art more seriously again, in some way. But how he’s nervous because he knows he’d have to do something fairly drastically different this time around, and the only thing he’s managed to come up with so far is some vague notion of combining his love of art and his love of cars. And he just can’t seem to get past the fear that no one in the art world, which he’d so valued and depended on for validation years ago, and for most of his life actually, could possibly take that seriously at all. 

When Nick prods him, encouraging him to pursue this new dream regardless of what he thinks a bunch of soggy old farts who were too daft to keep him around years ago when they had the chance might think, Zayn smiles and tells him he knows he’s right, and he would tell any mate the same thing. But he has so many years of internalizing what others told him about what constitutes serious, worthwhile art, and so many years of being treated as someone who must be interested in exactly that kind of art and that kind of art only. 

Nick admits when he first clapped eyes on Zayn, he assumed he’d be all broody and serious and boring. And if he’d known he was an artist that first day they’d met, no force on Earth could have contained his eye roll. Zayn laughs gently and says that’s probably a big part of why he always felt he had to be a proper, serious artist – because that’s how everyone treated him, due to how he looks most likely, and because he’s always been pretty reserved. That combined with the charming duo of anxiety and depression meant a brooding, tortured artist is all anyone ever saw. 

And that’s so hard to shake, he tells Nick. Even now that he rationally knows better. Even now that he’s realized, and on his best days can even remember, what it is about art that he actually loves, and how he doesn’t only get it from sketching and painting but anything creative, including restoring beat up old Plymouth bench seats. 

And maybe soon enough he’ll be able to apply the “fuck ‘em, just do what you love in the way you love it most” mantra he preaches to his loved ones when they’re feeling unsure of their own talent or dreams or direction to his own life. 

Zayn shares all this with a near total stranger because, walking around this pond, the space between them shrinking as the minutes pass and dusk approaches, he feels at ease. Safe. 

And in return, Nick shares how much he’s been wrestling with ending his Breakfast Show run and moving to the Drivetime slot. How he feels so silly and ungrateful to even be torn at all, but he knows there are people – including himself sometimes – who think of it as a demotion, something to feel ashamed about. And given that, how can he not feel at least a little bit like a failure? Even having gotten his absolute dream job, and loving nearly every moment of it for six years. Because if he was really that good, why wouldn’t they want him to do it any longer? Beg him to do it, even.

He tells Zayn how that’s actually why he’d gotten himself the Alfa. And why he’d not paid better attention to the shape it was in. Because he’d just needed something to be excited about. Something to help soften the resentment he felt so guilty about and needed to drown out. And he’d wanted this trip to distract him, make him forget all about his life before and the life he was about to start, but even before the car broke down, he’d felt absolutely pitiful because he’d realized within the first hour that all that time alone was only going to make absolutely crystal fucking clear that what he was really doing was running away from the fact that he hadn’t an ounce of a wank of a clue what he could dream of now that his was over. 

Zayn says he understands better than most probably could. And Nick seems to believe him.

And they finish their walk around the pond with hands clasped, neither of them having given any indication that they’d done it on purpose. 

~~~

It’s not that Zayn has never had someone grip his waist on a motorcycle before. And it’s not that he’d never gotten a thrill from it. But usually it had been preceded by days or even weeks of flirting, if not proper dates. Usually he knew it was coming. 

Usually it wasn’t Nick Grimshaw. 

Nick Grimshaw wrapped in leather, no less. 

And something about the leather-bound arms wrapped around his own leather jacket, and the sticky friction that resulted, amped the thrill to the point that he had a bit of a hard time concentrating on the road. Something about the way Nick had managed to bring his entire torso flush with Zayn’s back and rest his chin on Zayn’s shoulder certainly did nothing to help things. 

Nor did the way their respective five o’clock shadows scratched against each other like fine-grit sandpaper each time Nick nuzzled subtly against his jaw. 

It’s a good thing Zayn knows these back roads so well. His split focus – on the road ahead and the passenger pressed behind him – would be much more dangerous in less familiar territory. And the pressure Zayn swears he can feel pressing hesitantly but insistently into his lower back as they wind cautiously around the curves and accelerate through the straightaways is dangerous enough.

~~~

“Can I take a bit of a turn?” Nick asks, pulling his helmet off and fluffing his quiff with his free hand.

“You reckon you’re up for it?”

Nick’s smile fills his face as he nods excitedly. “Absolutely. Just around this parking lot a bit, nothing crazy.”

Zayn squints at him and wrinkles his nose and Nick leans dramatically foward, his hands clenched together at his chest. “Pleeeeease,” he begs. “I promise I’ll be good. Just once ‘round the lot. If you’re worried about your life being endangered, you can wait right here.” Nick bats his eyelashes at Zayn, pressing his lips out in a ridiculous pout. 

“Alright, Grimshaw,” Zayn concedes with a chiding tone. “But don’t try anything fancy. Just once around, eh? And be careful with my girl. I just got her back into fighting shape.”

Nick nods solemnly and lunges forward, planting a kiss to Zayn’s cheek. 

“Best behavior,” he assures him, right hand up as though he’s taking an oath. 

Zayn laughs and Nick rushes over to the bike, climbing on, and fastens his helmet strap. Zayn gives him a few pointers, making him repeat how to accelerate and brake. When he’s confident enough that Nick can make it around the lot without doing lasting damage to himself or the bike, Zayn lets him go. 

He does remarkably well. No wobbling past the initial few yards. His face focused and serious, his hands firmly but comfortably holding on, arms in a confident stance.

It’s well fucking hot. 

About halfway around, he revs the engine and Zayn’s cock twitches at the sound. 

Zayn lifts an eyebrow and licks his lips, continuing to stare in disbelief at this man-shaped breath of fresh air that dropped into his life from nowhere and could apparently get him hard just as easily as he could make him laugh. He shifts his stance to relieve the pressure building in his groin just as Nick pulls up next to him, making a rather impressive stop for a first-timer. 

He unclips his helmet and pulls it off, breathing heavily, his eyes glistening and a huge smile on his face. “How’d I do?” he practically shouts, endearing Zayn to him even more.

“Very well,” Zayn assures him. “More than I expected.”

 _“More_ than you expected?” Nick laughs.

“B-better than I expected, I meant.” Zayn corrects.

“Cat got your tongue, does it?” Nick smirks. 

“Well,” Zayn starts, feeling uncharacteristically certain about what he’s about to say, “the thing is, you look dead fucking sexy on that bike.”

Nick’s eyes darken and his smile shifts from gleeful to coy. “Do I?”

Zayn nods silently as he walks the few steps over to the bike and drops the kickstand down with his foot without breaking eye contact. “You do,” he huffs. 

He plants his hands on Nick’s chest and presses him back. Nick’s eyebrows shoot up and he holds his eye contact as he shuffles back on the seat in response to Zayn’s unspoken instruction.

As soon as Nick’s made enough room, Zayn swings his leg over the bike, straddling it facing Nick.

“Fucking hell,” Nick whispers gruffly, placing his hands on Zayn’s hips and squeezing firmly as Zayn’s eyes rove over Nick’s face. 

“Dead,” he leans in and kisses Nick just where his jaw meets his neck, “fucking,” he places another kiss on his cheekbone on the other side of his face, “sexy,” he flicks his eyes to meet Nick’s and leans in to press their lips together, waiting ‘til they meet to close his eyes. 

~~~

Trying to peel a well fitting leather jacket off a layer of flannel while the occupant’s arms are wandering about your back and hips and chest and face as you both stumble across a darkening parking lot, lips mashed together in a hot, desperate, slippery mess of kisses, is no easy feat. 

But Zayn is determined. 

And he’s almost got it managed when he trips over something behind him. Somehow, he and Nick catch each other before they spill to the ground, and turn to angrily face the offending object. 

“What the fuck?” Nick shouts at it. 

Zayn leans in to read the label on the white box. 

“Oh. It’s the parts,” he says. “To finish your car.” His stomach drops at the realization that the one thing keeping Nick here in his town is officially gone. 

“Are you sure? All of them?” Nick rasps, his breaths still heavy.

“Looks like it,” Zayn admits, examining the packing list he pulled from under the mailing label. “Thought one or two things might not make it ‘til tomorrow, although...” he sighs.

“Although what?” Nick asks, hiking his jacket back up over this shoulders. 

“Well, I–” Zayn sighs again, running his fingers through his hair to push it back from where it had fallen partially over his eyes, “I called in a favor from these guys, asked them to express ship everything if they could.”

“What in the bloody fuck did you do that for?” Nick asks before clapping his hand over his mouth. “Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean that. I just meant, you didn’t have to do that for me.”

Zayn’s mouth forms a crooked smile and he shrugs. “Just felt bad that your trip got so fucked, didn’t I? I wanted to help. If I’d have been in your position, I’d have wanted to get going as soon as possible.”

Nick smiles softly and steps toward Zayn. “That’s the sweetest fucking thing I can imagine.” He leans in and kisses Zayn where his jaw meets his ear and grips his earlobe gently between his teeth. 

“For a total stranger who was an absolute prick when you first met him? You called in a favor just because you knew I was disappointed about my trip?” He kisses him again at the corner of his mouth and Zayn’s eyes shut as he inhales deeply. “Who even _are_ you?” He pulls slightly back from Zayn’s face and stares deeply into his eyes, his own lust blown and darkening by the second. He licks his lips slowly, maintaining eye contact as he inhales deeply enough that his chest rises to press into Zayn’s. 

“Inside?” Zayn practically growls. 

“Inside,” Nick nods frantically. 

~~~

“God, back seats are so much better for fooling around when they’re outside of a car,” Nick gasps between kisses. 

“Mmm,” Zayn agrees, lunging forward to recapture Nick’s slick, swollen lips. He can’t quite keep track of their limbs, but he thinks his hands are somewhere under Nick’s t-shirt, their jackets and Nick’s flannel having been abandoned on the journey from the garage door to the bench seat. His fingers dig into soft flesh, eliciting a moan from Nick. 

“So fucking hot,” Nick grunts. “You’re so fit, it’s unbelievable.”

Zayn’s smile causes their teeth to clink together and he huffs a laugh before biting Nick’s bottom lip and pressing a kiss to his lips, his tongue barely flicking into his mouth, sliding just over the tip of Nick’s own. He pulls back a few inches and Nick stills. “Just absolutely beautiful," he says. "The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Zayn grabs a handful of Nick’s hair and pulls his head back carefully but firmly. He leans in to suck kisses down the length of Nick’s neck, biting softly just to the side of his Adam’s apple, and again where his neck meets his shoulder. Nick moans as Zayn presses a kiss in the same spot, then flattens his tongue and licks a stripe all the way up the center of his neck, pulling his head back even farther so he can continue the path under this jaw all the way to his chin. 

He releases his grip enough for Nick to tilt his head back down to face him and Nick surges forward to suck his bottom lip before quickly turning the kiss filthy, their tongues wrestling for position in each other’s mouths, slippery lips trying and failing to contain the mess. Zayn straddles Nick without breaking the kiss, rutting against him as his cock strains against his jeans. 

“I can’t get over how sexy you looked riding my motorcycle,” Zayn breathes between kisses. “I can’t stop picturing it.” 

This time Nick grabs Zayn’s hair and pulls him back, just out of reach of his lips. “You like me riding, do you?” Nick purrs, his eyes roving all over Zayn’s face, continuing to hold his head in place. 

Zayn darts his tongue out to lick at Nick’s face, just barely reaching Nick’s glistening pink top lip with the tip of his tongue. He reaches down and palms Nick’s cock through his jeans, exerting just enough pressure to extract a moan from deep in Nick’s throat. Distracted, he lets go of Zayn’s hair and Zayn rushes forward, pressing their lips together and thrusting his tongue into Nick’s mouth.

Suddenly, Zayn feels himself being lifted and flipped to a sitting position on the seat, and before he can react, Nick straddles him with a sinful smirk playing across his lips. Nick’s tongue darts out to lick his lips and he tilts his head to one side. 

“Wait ‘til you see how good I am at riding _you.”_

~~~

“Fuck,” Zayn exhales, falling back against the seat, his sweat-covered back sticking to the leather. 

Nick smirks and leans forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips as he slowly raises himself off Zayn’s spent cock. He swings one leg over Zayn and collapses next to him on the bench, resting his hands on his light sprinkling of sex-matted chest hair. He grabs his t-shirt from next to him on the bench and wipes the mess of sweat and cum from his stomach. 

“Indeed,” Nick agrees, tossing the shirt to the ground. “Told you my motorcycle skills would translate.”

They both exhale tired laughs as Zayn turns his head towards Nick and reaches over to cup Nick’s jaw, pulling his face toward him and pressing a gentle, long kiss to his lips.

As they both rest their heads back against the seat, their breathing steadily slowing back to normal, Nick huffs, “You better not have fucked some other guy in _my_ back seat.”

“Not my fault you didn’t read the fine print of the work order, Grimshaw,” Zayn deadpans. 

Nick barks a laugh and lifts his hands off his chest for a moment before dropping them back down and conceding, “Fair play.” He shifts his position to turn slightly towards Zayn. “So,” he says, “guess you’ll have my car back in tip top early tomorrow, eh?”

Zayn turns toward Nick and sighs. “Probably could have it done by 2:00 p.m. or so, yeah,” he says, a pit forming in his stomach. 

“Well,” Nick says, “not that I don’t have full faith in your abilities…” He pokes playfully at Zayn’s ribs as Zayn shoots him a questioning look. “But given what a disaster this dream car of mine apparently is, might not be a bad idea for me to keep a mechanic close on hand for the rest of my trip.”

Zayn quirks an eyebrow and Nick continues, “I mean what if I feel suddenly compelled to blow a mechanic and I haven’t made it to Scotland yet?” He wiggles his eyebrows at Zayn.

“That would be a real shame,” Zayn admits with a laugh, shaking his head. 

“Wouldn’t it just?” Nick asks. “Really though,” he adds, his tone becoming more serious. “I think you’d rather enjoy road tripping with me, Mr. Malik. I was on my way to Leeds when I got stranded here with you.” He winks at Zayn. “And was planning to continue up through North York Moors National Park before making my way to Edinburgh.” 

“National Park?” Zayn asks, surprised. “You got hiking and camping gear hidden somewhere in that boot?”

“Absolutely not,” Nick answers sternly. “But I do have some new knockoff trainers that ought to do for some light walking around.”

“Not even interested in glamping?” Zayn jokes, poking Nick lightly in his side. 

“Can you _imagine?”_ Nick gasps. “No, I’ve no interest in finding out what our fair National Parks Service’s idea of glamping is, Zayn. Probably just to provide you with a ration of toilet tissue for the hole in the ground outside your tent and a bag to take it back out of the park with you or summat.”

Zayn laughs at the thought of Nick’s scenario _and_ the idea of him traipsing through trails in his fake Fendi trainers and teal coat. 

“Honestly, though,” Nick interrupts his thought. “What do you reckon? Up for taking a trip with a near stranger who can ride dick as well as motorcycles?”

“It _has_ been a bit slow around here...until you showed up,” Zayn admits. “And I _have_ been hankering for a Scotsman ever since you mentioned it the other night.”

“A match made in Heaven, then,” Nick affirms with a nod. 

“It’s certainly tempting,” Zayn concedes. “Would be nice to get some time away to draw a bit more, too. Maybe think some things over.”

Nick nods emphatically. “And if the scenery doesn’t provide the right inspiration for your art, I will happily offer my services as the country’s foremost napping art model.” 

Zayn smiles and turns fully toward Nick. 

“I do think it’d be a blast to join you,” he says. “But there are a few things I’d need to figure out before I just up and left for a week and half.”

“Sure, of course,” Nick responds. 

“Let me sleep on it?”

“Absolutely,” Nick says, leaning over to press a quick, soft kiss to the corner of Zayn’s mouth before raising an eyebrow suggestively. 

“Want some company?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> A rebloggable tumblr post, with a picture board by the wonderful [missytearex](https://missytearex.tumblr.com/), is [here](https://uhohmorshedios.tumblr.com/post/186477553875). 
> 
> <3 <3 <3


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